He'd kept a small stone from
each of the states he'd visited,
some marked in pencil -
ARK, NEV, OK, TENN.
There was a pine cone and dried flower
from Bellingrath Gardens,
an elephant ear seed from Spanish Point,
a silver smelting cup from
an unnamed town in New Mexico.
His son looks through it all,
the Route 66 and Badlands Park pins,
an unidentified piece of bark,
seashells from Daytona and Venice beaches
and asks the oldest granddaughter
if she wants any of it because he plans
to throw it all away.
She doesn't, but the youngest says
she will put it all in her treasure box,
"because it was Grampa's."

Robert Manchester lives in New Hampshire, surrounded by leafy trees, stone walls, memories of Robert Frost, and severallivingpoetry legends. He's been writing and publishing poems for 50+ years, but quite prefers writing to submitting. Even so, his work manages to appear in print occasionally and he belongs to the John Hay Poetry Group in Newbury, New Hampshire. Though he views himself as a cynic who writes edgy poems about the "underbelly of life—the junk cars, tumbledown trailers, goat pens in the front yard, and the like—", his work is actually quite entertaining and often humorous.

Post New Comment:

Lori Levy:
I agree. Good details and good ending.Posted 09/12/2015 12:25 PM

Janet Leahy:
Love the ending of this poem, a special connection between the young and the old is indeed a treasure. Thanks RobertPosted 09/12/2015 10:22 AM

KevinArnold:
Smart granddaughter and poet. Posted 09/12/2015 08:43 AM

paradea:
Cheers to the young and sweet and caring. It fades too fast!Posted 09/12/2015 08:22 AM

phebe.davidson@gmail.com:
Good one!!!Posted 09/12/2015 07:19 AM

Ross Kightly:
THAT's how to end a poem! Magpies of the world, be reassured. Great stuff, thanks Robert.Posted 09/12/2015 04:37 AM